Just Like You
by Obsidian-Snow-Eyes
Summary: A look at the relationship between Draco and his family.


**Just Like You**

**Obsidian-Snow-Eyes**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Warnings: Abuse, Lucius evilization (again),

Authors Notes: This was inspired by the video by Koiouji on You Tube, Just Like You. Check it out; it's worth a look. Apologies for the lack of spag.

http/ www. youtube .com/ watch? vxaZSJMsO668

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**Just Like You**

_Draco sat in his father's shadowy office. He was a fine man of 46, his muscles still toned and well formed and his white blond hair was yet to grey. He sat there in a rich velvet suit of emerald green, and his eyes glittered in the firelight. They were clever eyes like his father. Cruel, clever eyes that that maintained the family stature and wealth. He sighed and shut the book that was open in his lap, and put back in its proper place._

_He looked like his father did in the days Draco could remember him, before he joined the Death Eaters and before everything went hazy. Draco had been styled as his father, in looks at birth, and moulded into everything else as he grew. Like his father he had completed Hogwarts as the best in the year, even though it had meant arranging a convenient accident for Granger. Like his father he had not needed to work, but spent his time in the service of Lord Voldemort, connecting himself to powerful and well-placed people. _

_There was a soft knock at the heavy oak door, and a blonde child bounced through it followed by Pansy Malfoy. Time and gravity had not been kind to her and now the Slytherin's once trophy bride was now considered uglier than the kitchen staff. At one time she had been feisty and lively – that had been part of the attraction, but like Draco's mother, she had slowly been broken down by endless rounds of verbal, physical and emotional abuse, slowly devolving to a frail timid old lady who's looks and mannerisms aged her. Draco kept is face in the same unreadable, cold mask that the Malfoy males all wore so well, but internally he fought the urge to shout at her and frighten the painful reminder of what he had become away. He did not want to think how like his father he had become. He did not want to look at his wife and see his mother and have his fathers face sneering in his reflection. He did not want to walk past Pansy's room on his way to his own and hear her cry out in nightmares and wish for a painless death. He did not want to sit in this office and read the books he had had to record his first son's suicide in. He didn't to be a part of what he was anymore._

_"Daddy, will you take me riding tomorrow?" His son asked him. Draco looked at him and saw what he once had been. Innocent and free, the child's grey eyes were curious and sparkled with a thirst for knowledge. Suddenly hatred burst through his veins spreading like to his body and fuelling his heart. He hated it, the whole prolonged system of stealing that innocence that his child managed to still posses. He looked at his sons idolizing eyes and then at his wife's downcast ones. He was the problem without him they'd be happy and free to express themselves._

_"No. I am busy." He said hating how cod and emotionless his voice sounded. He held in a sigh, forcing his face to remain its usual mask of emptiness. He really was as bad as his father._

_"But why?" his son asked his face beginning to crumple. "No!" the senior Malfoy shouted, standing up suddenly, his balled fist swing out_

_at his child. Blood burst from the infants face and her crumpled instantly at his father's feet screaming in pain. Draco sighed, he wasn't as bad as his father – he was worse. His son still had hope._

"NOOO!" sixteen-year-old Draco sat up in his bed coved in sweat. His pale

chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, his scream still ringing in his ears, Images of his

sons bloodied face and wife's turned back stuck in his mind as if superimposed onto his

eyelids. He stood up and lit a candle with his wand and walked over to his grand

mahogany writing desk and sat down at it, knowing what he must do. He hurriedly pulled

a piece of parchment and a quill towards himself and scribbled a short note before tying it

to his eagle owl and sending it off into the night. He got up and sighed, suddenly fearful

that he had done the wrong thing. He walked over to the mirror and glanced at his

reflection, some remnant of the dream making him anxious to check he had really woken up.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and gazed at the image of his father, hating every fibre of it. The blonde shoulder-length hair, still perfectly parted, the grey eyes that kept people out like the impenetrable doors of a bank vault, and yet glittered like the treasure within. He hated the way he couldn't slouch because if he tried his pedigree posture gave him back pain, and the way his mouth curved into a sneering smirk whenever he tried to smile. He turned his back on the mirror in disgust, determined not to turn into what his appearance predicted.

From somewhere below the breakfast gong sung out a brassy cord. Draco scowled. Somehow, he just wasn't hungry.

Draco sat at the end of the long table. His was playing with his omelette and a bruise over his eye sowed why he shouldn't disobey


End file.
